"I do not condone this crusade," she said. "Evermeet's army will not leave this island unless I order it. Lord Miritar does not dictate policy for the throne or the council."
"You will put a stop to this nonsense, then?" Lady Veldann said sharply.
"No," Amlaruil replied. "I did not say that."
"Do you mean to say that you do not approve of Miritar's ridiculous crusade, but you refuse to stop it?" Ammisyll Veldann fought to keep the disbelief from her face, but failed. "Is it the case that you are lying when you say you intend to enforce the consensus of the council, or do you simply lack the strength of will to govern as monarch?"
"Watch your tongue!" snapped Keryth Blackhelm. "I will not tolerate such speech here."
Amlaruil drew herself up and fixed her piercing gaze on the noblewoman.
"I am not lying, Ammisyll. As monarch I do not condone Lord Miritar's call for a voluntary expedition, and any efforts he makes do not reflect the official policies of the throne. And I have no lack of strength, as you should well know. The reason I do not intend to interfere with Lord Miritar is simple: It is not my place to dictate to any citizen of this realm where he or she goes and what he or she does, provided they obey the laws of the realm and respect the authority of the throne."
"So I could gather a so-called voluntary army to go invade the Moonshaes, for instance, and you would not view it as the throne's place to stop me?" Veldann snarled. She threw up her hands in disgust. "This is anarchy!"
"That is a poorly considered example, Lady Veldann," Zaltarish the scribe observed. "In that case, you would be taking an action that would provoke war with another state. That is indeed an affair of the crown, and you would be stopped. But Lord Seiveril proposes to go, as a private citizen and on his own cognizance, to fight in the service of an elven realm that has been attacked by the same enemy who has already assaulted us once. He would not be creating any state of war that does not already exist between Evermeet and another realm."
"Bah! My point remains the same. Miritar is circumventing the decision of this council. He cannot be allowed to do this."
"And how would you stop me, Lady Veldann?" Seiveril retorted. "Would you have me imprisoned, perhaps? For what offense? Stating my intention to leave Evermeet? Are we not each of us free to come or go from this realm whenever we like?"
"I think I would begin with sedition," Lady Veldann said. "Perhaps rebellion against the throne."
"So now you call it sedition when a free citizen of Evermeet chooses to leave and asks if others will follow?" Seiveril said. "You have a broad definition of the term."
"We may not have the authority to bar any who want to follow you on your fool's errand from leaving," Selsharra Durothil said, "but it is certainly a seditious act to seduce the defenders of this island into abandoning their duties. We will not permit you to strip our defenses bare, Seiveril. If you try it, you will be stopped."
"Now you are the one who presumes to speak for the throne, Lady Durothil," Amlaruil said. "I am quite aware of what constitutes sedition, and I will decide if or when we must respond to Lord Miritar's call. Do not issue threats in my name."
The queen turned to Seiveril. She frowned, considering her words.
"Lord Miritar, I accept your resignation with sorrow. You must do what you are called to do. But I cannot allow you to leave Evermeet defenseless, and I cannot allow you to divide our citizens into two camps. Volunteers may follow you, and I will not stop them. But you are not to coerce any into coming with you, and if I ask some to remain to attend their duties here, you are not to encourage them to leave."
"I agree," Seiveril said.
He bowed, and descended from the council table to the floor of the great hall. Jerreda Starcloak followed him, sparing one daggerlike glance for Durothil and Veldann. Seiveril glanced out over the crowded gallery, and roars of approval greeted his ears along with jeers and insults.
"I hope you know what you have started here, Seiveril Miritar," the wood elf noblewoman said quietly into his ear.
Seiveril drew in a deep breath and nodded.
"I do," he said. Then he strode out of the room, beneath the great archway, as first dozens, then scores and scores of elves in the council gallery detached themselves from their comrades and companions in order to follow him out into the night.
After sheltering for the night in a ruined mill near the Trade Way, Araevin and his small company arose early the next morning and left the Trollbark behind them. The weather remained cold and gray, with a light but steady rain that left them miserable and sodden as they followed the Trade Way south. They soon came to the crossroads where the Coast Way split off to head south toward the city of Baldur's Gate, while the Trade Way turned southeast toward Soubar and Scornubel. Araevin paused at the crossroads, eyes closed as he concentrated on the glimmering intuition the telkiira had planted in his mind, and he pointed toward the Scornubel road.
"It's almost due east of us now," he said. "We're definitely getting closer, but we're not there yet."
"I hope somebody hasn't pocketed the second stone and walked off with it," Maresa observed. "We might follow the stupid bastard all over Faerun."
Araevin shook his head with a wry smile. The genasi had an acerbic manner that reminded him of her mother, but she was quicker to laugh than Theledra had ever been. "It's not moving, I'm pretty sure of that."
They followed the Trade Way south and east. Each day Araevin was careful to renew his defenses against scrying spells, and he kept a wary eye out for anyone or anything that seemed to take too much interest in their passing. On two occasions he felt the cold feather-touch of some enemy prying at his barriers, seeking to circumvent his defenses and spy on him again, but each time Araevin managed to parry the attempts.
Late on the second day they crossed the Boareskyr Bridge over the Winding Water, and they came to the town of Soubar early on the fourth day. The spring mud slowed them considerably. Many merchants had abandoned the roads, waiting for drier weather before trying to move their heavy wagons. They passed a dozen or so parties of fellow travelers each day-pilgrims bound for some shrine or another, caravans who packed their wares on surefooted mules instead of heavy carts, far-roving patrols of soldiers from Baldur's Gate and Scornubel, adventuring companies in search of ruins to loot, nobles and their entourages riding to visit distant kin, bands of dwarf smiths and orc cutters looking for work, troupes of acrobats and entertainers, imperious mages who often as not traveled on phantom horses or flying carpets, and more than a few gangs of ruffians, brigands, and highwaymen, some of whom thought to waylay Araevin and his friends, at least until Ilsevele shot a crossbow out of someone's hands or Araevin used a lightning bolt or similar spell to scare them off. Meanwhile, the weather warmed a bit each day, until by the time they rode into Soubar the fields were a luxurious deep green and the sun no longer rose on thick frosts each day.
In Soubar they rested for a day and a night at an inn called the Blue Griffon, drying out their clothes and re-provisioning. Then, on the morning of the twelfth of Ches, they set out again, following the cart tracks of woodcutters northeast toward the great dark verge of the Forest of Wyrms, fifteen miles from Soubar and the road. At first they passed through prosperous if well-fortified farms, homesteads with houses and barns made from thick field-stone and guarded by small packs of wolfhounds. But the farms gradually thinned out as they drew closer to the forest, until finally there was nothing more than a wild, desolate moorland hard by the forest itself. The company crested a low rise and found themselves at the forest's doorstep.
"In there?" Maresa asked with a nod of her head.